The Silence of Silent Hill
by QueenofDoomydoom
Summary: Wanted by the FBI, Clarice has fled. Driven by obsession and revenge, Dr. Lecter tracks her down on his own, leading him to the one place she called home... Silent hill. Not a good summary, I know, I intend on rewriting it. set two years after the movieverse but has hints of the tv series as well. Jack Crawford and Will may be in the story later on if it gets any reviews.
1. Chapter 1

Type type click type. These are the only sounds that fill the computer room in the library, other than the occasional sound of a car sloshing through the rain outside. The building itself was massive and with history in it's bricks. Unfortunately, the same can not be said for it's contents. Maroon eyes did not show much surprise at this as Brahams was a little town West Virginia with not many inhabbitants that could read. Wether they could or not didn't change Hannibal Lecter's mind on their intelligence.

Click. With that final sound the good doctor accessed the FBI's VICAP files. He flexed his wrist, the thumb still sore after being reatached after being chopped off to slip through the cuffs that nearly threatened his freedom. His eyes sparked as he saw former agent Clarice Starling's pitcure at number nine of the FBI's ten most wanted list. As amusing as that was, he was a bit put off to see his own only at number ten. He knew for them, embarassing the bureau and having the tools to reveal their corruption was a far worst sin than a cannibalistic serial killer on the loose. He clicked on her picture and read... Wanted for the aid and escape of Hannibal Lecter and orchrastrating the murder of executive deputy, Paul Krendler and Mason Verger.

It has been two years since that summer night and recently new evidence had come to light that exposed her involvement in that dinner. Quiet amusing and surprising as he knew personally that entire evening was his design and absolutly no evidence that could incriminate her existed. He flexed his hand again, a painful memory of who she actually harmed that night flickered.

Before the news of her arrest hit the press, she had fled. Fled to escape confinement, to escape shaming. Doesn't feel too good, does it, Clarice. There was a tip that she may have been hiding with family in Montanna, but it was a mislead that lead to a wild goose chase, as did the tip that she was seen in Arlington visiting her father's grave. Lecter knew such information was incorrect. He knew that she acted on instinct, and anybody's first instinct when in trouble is to go home. Montanna was not her home, nor the arlington cemetary.

He had looked at her father's obituary, the dead nightwatchmen whom she inherrited her flawed morals from. Behind his obituary was something about a fire, but he didn't care to read it as he only wanted the information on the dead policeman. After finding the adress of the sad little home, he left with in burned into his memory. A couple hours later, as he drove toward his destination, he pondered on what he was going to do once he found her. Anger boiled within him as he remembered her betrayal, saving him from Mason Verger only to attempt to profit from his capture herself. A part of him wanted revenge, but another part knew such an idea was laughable. The worst thing he could bring himself to do to her was a mocking 'I told you so'. It didn't matter, he had to find her first before the FBI did.

His musings stopped as he saw that he was almost at his destination. Hannibal focused on the road infront of him as he passed the faded sign "WELCOME TO SILENT HILL".


	2. Chapter 2: Welcome to Silent Hill

A/N: Sorry about the wait, I've been writing and scraping over and over. But after finally accepting that I am indeed a sucky writer, I settled for this chapter. I am obviously using the movie ending (because book ending this story wouldn't of happened) but there will be A LOT of book references.

Guest: She didn't actually mean to profit, but she cuffed him in the end of the movie waiting for the cops.

Moonlitchou: Hi Moony. May I call you Moonymoon? No? Aww... anyways, I bet PH would tast like beef jerky.. the kind you find under a shelf at a gas station that might give you food poisoning, but ya still eat it anyway. Yep... good times.

MajorBachman: What do you wanna bet that after rereading and editing I still make at least 12 grammor mistakes :P

You all have been so sweet, now I feel I must write the best fic ever written, but I know I'll screw up because I'm a bad writer and you'll be mad and I'll cry a lot and hide under my bed and never go outside again, I FAILED YOU ALREADY!... Have fun!

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The road seams to stretch on forever. But what road doesn't? Hannibal smiled breifly at his own cryptic musings. The rain had lightened to a small drizzle, but the sound of tires running on wet pavement and Mozart's Lacrimosa playing on the car's cd player did little to keep his mind from wandering to that July night. The flowers, the candles, the smell of the spices he had been chopping to add to the main course... the morphine... the blood. Her blood. Paul Krendler's blood. His own blood. These scents that filled his memory palace still smelt fresh and it filled him with rage. Blue eyes shed one tear...

He exhaled a breath of annoyance at his memories. He did not give them permission to come out of their rooms. He slammed the door to his memory palace and tried to focus on the road and the cd.

The cd started to skip. He groaned in defeat and ejected the disc and carelessy threw it in the backseat. It wasn't keeping him much company tonight anyways. Road, road, black wet pavement, like blood in the moonlight. Blue eyes... blue eyes... Blue lights?

Snapping out of his musings once more he checked the rearview mirror and indeed there was a police car behind him. Hannibal did not worry. He could tell there was only one officer and he knew he had been going a bit past the speed limit. It was quite easy to talk your way out of situations. At least it was for him.

Slowing down to a stop, he took out his fake ID and proof of insurance, all the while having his harpy ready up his sleeve. The officer tapped on the window and he obliged, rolling it down. His hat was tilted in a way Hannibal couldn't see his face.

"License and registration, please." He barely scanned at whatHannibal had handed before he asked in a thick accent nearly every local was inflicted with, "Do ya know how fast you were goin'?"

"Not quiet, but it must be over the speed limit if you had to pull me over." Hannibal replied.

"Yeah it was fast... but not by much. I'm gonna let you go with a warning but remember these roads can wind a bit. We get lots of accidents 'round here."

Hannibal could see the man's mouth as he spoke, but not much else. He nodded, "I understand."

"Promise to be more careful? I'd sure hate to have to drag your remains out."

"Cross my heart." Hannibal nodded again, hoping the officer would be on his way. He seemed like a nice man, it would be a shame to have to kill him.

"And hope to die?" He laughed, "Alrighty then, I guess I have your word on that... Oh, just one more thing..

"Yes?" Hannibal looked up once more to look at the man's obscure face, but only saw the butt of a gun. Everything went black.

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Black. Black silk against milky white skin. Black. Blue eyes. Blood. Redder than snow. A tear. Black. Black... Nothingness..

Hannibal groaned as he regained consiousness. Slowly, he recalled what had happened. The cop. He must've reconized him. He must be in jail. His heart nearly sank. He forced himself to open his eyes and see. His head throbbed a bit. He could see bars. He blinked and could see more clearly. Yes, he was in a cell... The iron bars were rusted and the overhead lights were off. It doesn't look like anybody's been in here for years. The door was open...

Hannibal stood up, something that had been laid on his chest slid off to the floor with a small clank. He picked it up and inspected it. It was a pocketknife. A very nice one at that. Not nearly as nice as his harpy though. And one of the blades had the tip chipped off.

"I don't see much of the point of leaving me this." Hannibal said to himself. He put it in his coat pocket for safekeeping anyway. He was sure it was the nice officer's. He would like to return it to him later. Maybe right in his heart.

Hannibal took a good look at his surroundings as he walked out of the cell. If ony it were always this easy to escape a prison. Everything looked grey and dead. The floor, the walls... even the air seemed to have a fog that emmited an aura of loneliness. It didn't take him long to find the door to outside. The glass in it was broken and he could see the light outside. It was snowing? No... he could smell the ash. Ashes.

"Odd weather we're having today." He wasn't sure if he had silently thought it or if he had spoken but didn't care. The quite was too loud and he would welcome any other sound. _click._ Hannibal felt the barrel of a gun pointed at his head. Any other sound but that.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Ugh, Writer's block. I'm not sure if I should keep writing this story, it's pretty stupid. Wtf was I thinking writing this? I feel like I defiled the Hannibal chronicals by writing this. I'm sorry for this chapter, but hey at least it might be the last one. Please leave a comment, wether you liked it or hated it so I know at least how much improving I need to do before writing anything else.

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He couldn't believe it. This was twice within a few hours he had been taken by surprise. He didn't hear anyone behind him until he heard the click of the safety being off on the gun. He slowly put his hands up in a gesture that he was compliable.

"Turn around slowly..." A strong yet feminine voice commanded. Hannibal's breath stopped in his throat. When he next breathed he could smell her, that unique scent sweeter than any perfume. Clarice.

He did as instructed and met her blue gaze. Her gun lowered a bit as her eyes looked him over in shock. It certainly looked like him, but she seemed unsure. She cautiously reached out with one hand, the other holding the .45, and touched his arm. She pulled away as if she had been burned.

Hannibal smirked, yet his eyes darkened dangerously, "That's not a very polite way to greet an old friend, Clarice."

"Depends on if that 'friend' is really there." She said, keeping her aim on his chest, "What happened to your head?"

Hannibal gently touched his brow, looking at the blood on his fingers and replied, "I was pulled over by a local police officer. That's the last thing I remember. He wouldn't be a friend of yours, would he?"

Clarice lowered her hands a bit and sighed, "I don't have any friends, Dr. Lecter. Not anymore.."

"So I've heard..." He glanced her over again, noticing she had black and red stains on her once white t-shirt and jeans, her red hair longer and more unkept.

"Is that what brought you here? A chance to gloat?" She hissed through her teeth and aiming the gun at his head.

"I was only wanting to see if you were alright. As glorious as it is being on the FBI's most wanted list, I understand it must be very unsettling for someone as incorruptible as you." He slowly took a step forward, "Please Clarice, I didn't come here to hurt you."

Clarice looked at the gun in her hands. She almost forgot she had it and that she was aiming it at him . There wasn't many bullets left, that was why she came to the police station hoping to find more. She didn't find many. She was very surprised to have found Dr. Lecter instead.

She nodded and put it back in here holster, "I'm not gonna waste a bullet on you.."

Quick as a cobra, Hannibal lunged, pushing her onto a desk behind her, knocking an old radio to the floor as he grabbed the pocketknife and held it to her throat.

"Not 'gonna' waste a bullet on me?" He mocked in her accent, "Funny, there are a lot of things you haven't been wasting on me here lately...

"A key... my freedom... your time..." He dug the blade deeper to her throat with each word, " and any consideration."

He took a ragged breath and noticed a small drop of blood dripping down her throat. Her eyes were shut tight, waiting for death. He stood and held out his hand. When she didn't feel the blade tear into her neck, Clarice rubbed the small red line and opened her eyes to see the doctor holding out his hand to help her up. Deciding that it was best not to offend him any further, she accepted, pleased to see the scar running across it. She was afraid he might have actually lost it.

That's when she noticed what was in his other hand, "Where did you get that knife?"

He looked and realised he had grabbed the pocketknife instead of his harpy, "I found it. It was in the cell where I woke up."

"May I see it?"

"I'm not sure.." He purred, "Can I trust you with anything sharp after just now?"

Clarice gawked, "You were the one with a thing for knives... Just let me see it, Doctor!"

"How can I refuse with that charming plea. Very well." He smirked handing it to her.

Hannibal went to the door again, looking at the falling ash through the broken window. He looked at Clarice, who had gone strangely quiet. She stood there, no longer inspecting the pocketknife, but cradling it in her hands.

"Clarice? Are you alright? You look a bit pale."

"No no no, this can't be..." She said under her breath, so softly that anybody that didn't senses as keen as the doctor's wouldn't have heard it.

Hannibal spoke again, "Did you hear me, Clarice? I asked if you were alright."

She finally looked at him and spoke, "This was my father's knife... the one he would slice oranges with..."

"Are you sure?" Hannibal asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"No... yes.. no, I..., " She looked at it and trembled a bit, "It is, I'd know it anywhere... but..."

"But what, Clarice?"

Clarice looked into his stare, her blue eyes wide, "But he was buried with it."

Suddenly the radio that had been knocked off the desk crackled back to life, making her jump. Hannibal picked it up and turned the volumn down. They stared at eachother in silence for about seven seconds before another sound tore through the air. A siren.

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A/N: I'm so sorry for the bad chapter. If you really liked it any, please leave a comment. If not, I won't even bother.


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